


Upon the Starless Shores of R'lyeh

by akamine_chan



Category: due South
Genre: Cthulhu Mythos, Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 17:33:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They stop for the day, even though the sun is just starting to dip toward the horizon.  It's late spring, and there's still more hours of darkness than light.  Fraser sets up camp while Ray starts dinner by melting water for rehydrated stew.  They burn a lot of calories out on the tundra, so it's important to eat a lot of high energy food.  During the day they snack on Fraser's homemade pemmican.  For dinner, there's the stew, dried fruit, and chocolate and peanut butter for dessert.  Fraser drinks tea, Ray has his coffee and they drink lots of water to stay hydrated.  </p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon the Starless Shores of R'lyeh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ride_Forever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride_Forever/gifts).



> Fic #3 written for Ride4_ever in return for her donation in my fanworks fundraiser. Sorry this one took extra long to get finished. Thanks for your patience.
> 
> If you're looking for a fluffy, happy-ending story, this is not the story you're looking for. Move along. You don't need to know anything about the Cthulhu mythos to read this.
> 
> Much thanks to Ande for beta.

"What's thataway?" Ray asks, pointing toward a low hill in the distance. 

Fraser pulls out the map and looks. "Hmmm. It doesn't seem to appear on the map." It is strange, and Fraser digs out his compass just to double check things. It never hurts to be thorough. 

"Should we check it out?" Ray's eyes are bright with curiosity. He's taken to their quest with enthusiasm, learning about dog sledding, and how to navigate and survive on the tundra. They've set snares together and more than once Ray has brought back a brace of ptarmigan for dinner. 

"If you like," Fraser responds. They have no set schedule, just a rough itinerary.

They turn toward the hill and make good time; Dief is an excellent lead dog, and now that Ray had become proficient on the sled, it leaves Fraser free to ski. It's good exercise and it warms Fraser up and, with the sun shining through the clouds, it is a pleasant sort of day. 

They stop for the day, even though the sun is just starting to dip toward the horizon. It's late spring, and there's still more hours of darkness than light. Fraser sets up camp while Ray starts dinner by melting water for rehydrated stew. They burn a lot of calories out on the tundra, so it's important to eat a lot of high energy food. During the day they snack on Fraser's homemade pemmican. For dinner, there's the stew, dried fruit, and chocolate and peanut butter for dessert. Fraser drinks tea, Ray has his coffee and they drink lots of water to stay hydrated. 

They climb into their tent, snuggling into their joined sleeping bags after they tidy up the camp, and talk until their eyelids droop and they fall asleep. 

When they wake, Ray complains of a pounding headache. Fraser is concerned, checks his forehead for fever, and gives him some aspirin.

"Do you want to take the day off and rest up?" he asks. He's not overly concerned; Ray's not showing any serious symptoms.

"Nah, I'm good," Ray replies, and grins. "Not gonna let a headache stop us from exploring."

They break down the camp and set off toward their mysterious landform. 

Fraser estimates that they are only about ten kilometers away from the odd hill, and when he pulls out his compass to check, the needle just swings in lazy circles. "Hmmm. Odd." He gently taps at the glass, but the needle just goes around and around. "Localized magnetic disturbance, perhaps," he says. 

As they get closer, Fraser feels like they're being watched, a weird sensation that raises the hair on the back of his neck. They're in the middle of an empty stretch of land, nothing but snow and ice, well above the treeline. There's no place for someone to conceal themselves. He shrugs it off as his sometimes overactive imagination.

"Do you hear that?" Ray asks when they stop for a tea break.

"Hear what?" 

"Chiming, " Ray says, "like a wind chime made of glass."

Fraser tilts his head and closes his eyes, but all he can hear is the sound of the wind. "No."

"Hmmm." Ray says, shaking his head. "Must be imagining it." 

"It's probably a phenomena related to the wind moving over the ice."

"Yeah, must be," Ray agrees, but there's an uneasiness to his words. "Didn't sleep well last night. Bad dreams."

"What kind of dreams?" Fraser knows that Ray usually sleeps like the dead, and rarely remembers his dreams in the morning.

Ray looks into the little fire they built, eyes unfocused. "I. I'm not sure. It was dark, there was something in the dark, and I was afraid." He takes a sip of tea, and Fraser tries not to stare at the faint tremor in his hands. "Probably just overtired," he mutters.

"Indeed," Fraser says with a cheer he doesn't quite feel. "The brain is a fascinating thing, prone to playing tricks on us."

"Yeah."

As they get closer, it becomes clear that it's _not_ a hill. It's too low, with an odd regularity to its shape that speaks of constructed, rather than formed. Some sort of building, out in the unexplored reaches of the tundra? Every once in a while the sun glints pink off the structure and Fraser finds that his wariness is pushed aside in favor of curiosity. 

A little while later Ray shouts, "Easy! Easy, Dief, whoa!" and the dogs slow down and stop, whining and yipping. He pushes his goggles up and squints into the distance. They're close to the structure, whatever it is. 

Fraser skis back to where Ray is, and stabs his poles into the frozen snow. "What's wrong, Ray?" He slides his goggles down his face to hang around his neck and peers in the same direction as Ray. He can get a better sense of the shape of the structure, not squared off, but still boxy. 

Fraser is confounded; this is not something built by the Inuit and forgotten. They're too high above the tree line and too far away from the coast. And it's certainly not something any Arctic explorers, like the Franklin or McClure expeditions, could have built while they were busy trying to survive the brutal winter. They hadn't the tools, material, or manpower to build _anything_. 

"Something seems hinkey." Ray twitches like something's crawling on his skin and there's a furrow between his eyebrows that makes it clear that his headache is still bothering him. It worries Fraser, a little.

Fraser tilts his head. "Indeed. Something is surely 'hinkey' here, Ray. We're looking at what appears to be a man-made structure where none should exist. The indigenous people of this area have been primarily nomadic hunter-gatherers, and have not been in the habit of leaving behind buildings. " He points toward the structure in question. "Additionally, Arctic construction techniques are labor intensive and cost prohibitive, for the most part. Why would you construct a building at great expense, then abandon it?"

"So what is it, then?" Ray asks. He is still staring at the structure, puzzled. "Aliens?"

"Probably not." Fraser gives him a brief smile. "I don't know, but I'm sure there's a reasonable solution to this mystery." It galls to have no explanation for this. This is Fraser's domain, the place he is most familiar with, his home, and running across a mystery like this is most unexpected. 

"Well," Ray says, adjusting his goggles. "Let's go see what it is." He releases the sled brake and yells "Hike!" at the team. The dogs yip and howl and surge forward.

They set up camp about 500 meters from the mysterious structure. Ray wants to explore right away, but Fraser points out that setting up camp first is more important. If they get too involved in exploring and lose track of time, they'll have to set up camp when they're tired, and that can lead to mistakes. Mistakes are dangerous on the tundra.

They get the dog team settled, reminding Dief he's in charge. Dief just snorts disdainfully and buries his muzzle into his food.

Ray and Fraser collect the supplies they think they'll need: rope, flashlights, a camera, some pemmican and water. Almost as an afterthought, Ray slings the strap of the rifle over his shoulder. Fraser raises a questioning eyebrow, and Ray shrugs. "Never know."

"Hmmm," Fraser says. "I can't imagine that there's anything we need to fear, but you are correct. Proper preparation—"

"—prevents poor performance," Ray finishes with a sarcastic eyeroll. "Yeah, I know, Frase. I know."

Fraser just smiles in victory and they head toward the structure. Fraser uses a ski pole to check the ground in front of them as they walk; he has no desire to fall into a crevasse. Once was more than enough, thank you kindly. 

"Oh, ow," Ray says, stopping and rubbing at his forehead.

"What's wrong?" Fraser approaches him, and he's immediately concerned. Ray's pale as the snow and it's clear he's in a lot of pain, eyes squinched closed and body hunched a little. 

"Headache just got worse, like an icepick," Ray mutters, and when he opens his eyes, Fraser takes an involuntary step backward in shock. 

"Ray—"

"What's wrong, Fraser?" Ray moves forward, and Fraser has to force himself not to recoil from Ray's outstretched hand.

"Your eyes—"

"What's wrong with 'em?" Ray blinks exaggeratedly a few times. 

When Fraser looks again, they're back to normal. "For a moment it appeared as if your pupils were gone."

"What? Pupil's the dark part in the middle, right? How could that just go away?"

Fraser shakes his head. "It's impossible. Pupils can't constrict that tightly. Maybe it was just a trick of the light." He doesn't sound convincing, even to himself, but Ray grasps at the explanation.

"Yeah, that's probably it." Ray shakes his head, like a dog throwing off water. "Let's do this." 

As they get closer, some of the structure's details becomes visible through the layer of snow. Fraser estimates it's about eight meters high, and seventy meters wide. It's covered with a layer of frozen snow, but there are spots where the snow has fallen away, revealing glistening pink underneath. Fraser reaches out, wiping away more snow. "I think it's glass," he says. He tries to peer into the structure, but he can't see anything. Ray hands him the flashlight, but even the industrial, police-issue light doesn't penetrate into the darkness. 

"Pink's kinda a weird color," Ray remarks. "For a building in the Arctic."

Fraser nods while brushing off more snow, trying to get a sense of the structure. He's pretty sure it's glass, but it's not composed of panes or sheets. This substance is bubbly and amorphous, like it was molten and flowing at some point. "Let's see if we can find a door or some other entrance."

"All right." They circle the building, clearing away snow at suspicious spots, hoping to find a door knob or handle of some sort. It isn't until they've almost done a complete circuit of the structure that they come across the mechanism. 

Embedded in the wall is a row of three raised circles, clearly made out of the same glassy substance, each with a strange character engraved on it. "These pictograms—" Fraser pauses, and traces a finger over one. "I've never seen anything like this. They don't look related to any language group that I've come across."

"Huh," Ray says, and when he presses one of the circles, it sinks into wall. "Buttons. Wonder what they do." 

"Ray, no—" Fraser tries to stop him from pushing the other buttons, but it's too late. There's a massive, loud _grinding_ sound, like stone moving against stone, and the the building vibrates, knocking most of the clinging snow off. 

A section of the wall pivots smoothly down and in, forming a small ramp into the darkness. "Hmm."

"That seems to have done the trick," Ray says with a sly grin.

"Ancient Egyptian and Chinese cultures both developed the technology to use counterweights to move large blocks of stone. I suspect the builders of this structure did something similar." Fraser can't help the slightly pedantic tone he uses.

"Well, if this was a horror movie, the last thing we should do is go down there." 

Fraser can't hold back a chuckle. "Indeed."

"But we're not in a horror movie. Let's check it out." 

Before Fraser can say anything about the need for caution, Ray takes the ramp down into the structure and disappears from sight. Fraser sighs and rubs at his eyebrow, because this is Ray at his core: impulsive, brash, impatient. Those qualities are some of the reasons why he loves Ray like he does. Those are also the qualities that make him want to throttle Ray on a regular basis.

Fraser looks around for a moment, trying to find something to wedge into the door; he's familiar with the way that most of Ray's horror movies have the intrepid explorers trapped by a closing entrance. There's nothing that he can use, so he pulls a couple of pitons from his pack and jams them into the stone hinges. He hopes it's enough. "Ray, wait up," he calls.

"C'mon, Fraser. Stop being a slowpoke," Ray calls back, and Fraser can tell that he's moving deeper into the structure. He clicks on the flashlight and looks around. 

The ramp leads into a narrow corridor, made of the same glassy substance. In sunlight, it looks pink, but here in the darkness, it takes on a sickly greyish hue. Fraser can't tell if the corridor opens up, or if it continues on for some distance. He wishes he had a spool of twine to keep them from getting lost. Given the maze-like nature of tombs and temples, it wasn't an unreasonable idea. 

He does have two coils of rope, about seventy meters each, which while not ideal, will work. Fraser ties the end of the rope to one of the pitons and loops the rope around his arm, ensuring there's plenty of play. "Ray? Ray?"

"Over here!" Ray shouts, and his voice is disconcertingly distant.

"Damn it, Ray. Wait for me."

"Hurry up, Fraser." Ray's voice echoes, and it's hard to tell which direction it's coming from.

Fraser starts off, making sure that the rope is spooling out behind him.

There's something about the acoustics of the place that seems to muffle sound. No, not muffle, but _absorb_ it, dampening the vibrational energies in strange ways, almost like the hushed silences sometimes found in churches. 

Except this place doesn't feel reverent or holy; it feels, somehow, like the exact opposite. Fraser tries to shrug off his uneasiness.

It doesn't take long for it to become clear that there's nothing but a labyrinth of corridors in the structure. No rooms, no doors, nothing but smooth grey-pink walls. Fraser suspects that they're heading deeper underground; there seems to be a barely noticeable downward incline, but he wouldn't bet his life on it.

The sensation of being watched increases, and Fraser makes an effort to untense his shoulders. He scrubs a hand across the back of his neck, trying to erase the prickling feeling that's making the hair stand up.

He follows behind Ray, trying to keep him in sight as he ventures ahead of Fraser. They stop occasionally so that Fraser can update the crude map he's creating in the small notebook he always has with him. Sometimes Fraser thinks he hears something, and he makes Ray stand still as he listens, but he's not sure if he's imagining the slithering sound or not.

It's not the sound of dry scales, but something. . . _older_. Ancient. Fraser tries to explain to Ray, but he doesn't have the words and gives up.

They reach the end of the first rope, and Fraser carefully secures the second one to the first with a simple butterfly bend. 

"Fancy," Ray says, and Fraser can only shrug. His grandparents had given him a copy of the _Ashley Book of Knots_ and he'd spent a long winter practicing each knot until he'd gotten it right.

"What do you think this is, Fraser?" Ray asks later.

Fraser pauses to take stock. They've explored for a bit, and they're down to the last few coils of the second rope. They've seen nothing that gives any hint of who built the structure, or what its purpose is. There's nothing but twisting corridors, and a sense of age. The only reason Fraser is sure that they haven't been going in circles is because of the rope. 

Fraser looks around at the pinkish walls surrounding them. "I." He swallows hard. "I just don't know, Ray. Nothing I can hypothesize makes any sense."

"Reminds me of church. The big one in Pulaski Park, St Stanislaus." 

"Except we've found nothing to indicate the structure's purpose, no furnishing, no markings, nothing."

"Yeah, I know." Ray nods. "But it still feels like I'm being watched by. . .something all-knowing, all-powerful. I feel like I should be quiet and respectful, otherwise I'll be judged." He shivers and crosses himself, which is something that Fraser, in all the years they've been together, has never seen him do. "It's creepy."

"This place does give the impression of vast age, and it definitely feels like a place of worship. But it doesn't appear to be any kind of worship that I'm familiar with."

Ray shrugs and looks down the corridor. "Maybe if we go a little further..."

"We shouldn't." Fraser holds up what is left of the rope. "We have my map, but I still would prefer to find our way back with the rope."

"Fraser," Ray says, and there is a thread of a whine in his voice, uncharacteristic and troubling. "I just want to know what this place _is_."

"We can come back. We just need to be better prepared. We can backtrack to Kugluktuk, pick up more supplies, longer rope, talk to the locals about—"

"No!" Ray is adamant. "We don't tell anyone about this place, Fraser. It's _ours_."

Fraser thinks that is a strange way of putting it, but he doesn't want to argue with Ray right at this moment. "All right," he says. He could ask a few discreet questions while they were in Kugluktuk. 

He turns around and starts heading back the way they came, but realizes after a few steps that Ray hasn't moved. "Ray?" He shines the flashlight at Ray, and almost drops it. Something about the way the light shines on his face makes Ray look inhuman, old and unearthly. And this time, Fraser is _sure_ that there is something strange going on with Ray's eyes. "Ray?"

Ray shakes off whatever is absorbing his attention. "Huh?"

"Let's go," Fraser tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice; he isn't sure he is totally successful.

Fraser guides Ray in front of him and dutifully follows behind. There is no small talk, the air is tense with. . .something. Like a storm about to break, and Fraser frankly wants to be out of this strange building with no answers. It seems to have some kind of effect on Ray, and Fraser doesn't like that.

Ray abruptly stops, and Fraser, unprepared and following closely, stumbles into him. "Ray, what—"

"Fraser." That is Ray's fear-voice, the one he'd used in the crevasse, and when they were taking on water in the belly of the _Henry Allen_ , the tone he'd used when Fraser had been grazed by a ricocheting bullet last year. 

Ray shifts, and aims his flashlight at the rope, following it until it dead-ends in a wall. A solid wall. 

Fraser tugs on the rope, but it's firmly embedded, like the glass had been melted around the rope. It is impossible.

"I don't understand." Fraser examines the wall, the rope, tries to find a logical explanation of how this happened, but nothing springs to mind. It's like a wall had solidified around the rope, changing the configuration of the corridors. Fraser feels a frisson of fear down his spine.

This is unnatural.

"Head's hurting again," Ray mumbles, and with that, Fraser is done.

He takes a few minutes to orient himself, to check in with his internal compass, and looks over his map before heading to the left. "This way, Ray," he says, projecting a surety he isn't feeling. But the path seems familiar and after a few more twists and turns they run across the other part of the rope. "Here we go. This should lead us straight back to the entrance, and we can go back to camp and rest for the evening."

"Yeah," Ray agrees, but he seems unsure and hesitant. "Sounds like a plan."

Fraser doesn't bother with any more discussion, just focuses the flashlight on the rope and follows it. It's not long before light from outside filters in through the darkness and Fraser breathes a silent sigh of relief. "Look, Ray, we're almost out of this strange place." 

"Yeah," Ray says again and they step out into the late spring sunlight.

It takes a long moment for Fraser's brain to register that something is wrong, terribly wrong. "Where are we?"

"Uh..." Ray looks stunned. "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," he mutters.

It is clear that wherever they were, they certainly weren't in Canada anymore. The landscape around them is free of snow, a barren, hilly section of land. There were a few shrubby-looking trees, but nothing else for as far as the eye could see. He turns to look back at the mysterious building, which looks just as it did when they entered it several hours ago. 

"Maybe it's like a portal, like, you go in one at one place but come out of another."

Ray is a fan of the science fiction movie marathons on Channel 8. 

"Except such technology doesn't exist in our world, Ray."

Ray shrugs. "Nothing makes sense at this point."

"True." Fraser looks around. "I hope Dief and the team are okay." Somewhere in his heart, though, Fraser fears the worst.

"Yeah."

"Well, let's gather some branches, start a fire and wait for dusk. Once the stars come out, I should be able to get a bearing on where we are, and what direction we need to travel in to get back to civilization." _Always stay positive_ , his grandparents had counseled. 

"Sounds like a plan," Ray says, falsely cheerful, but Fraser will take what he can get.

Ray, uncharacteristically, kisses him before heading toward the nearest scrubby trees. "These are some weird ass trees, Fraser," Ray yells. "Come look."

Fraser goes to where Ray is examining some leaves. "Look, they've got these weird patterns on them, and these like, breathing holes?" He points to a set of tiny oval holes lining the edge of the leaves, opening and closing rhythmically. 

"Very strange," Fraser agrees. When he breaks off a couple of branches, the ends ooze a reddish sap, almost like blood. He helps Ray gather a few branches, and by the time they get a small fire going, the sun is low on the horizon. 

Fraser leans back, eyes squinted slightly, searching. "There should be several recognizable constellations regardless of where we are, maybe even Polaris, and from there, I should be able to determine an approximate latitude. . ." he mutters to himself. 

Ray sits near the fire, staring at the flames while Fraser pulls out his tiny notebook and starts to draw an approximate map of the stars above their heads.

Hours later, Fraser is still muttering to himself, because nothing is making sense. His back is protesting the amount of time he's spent sitting, so he climbs to his feet, trying to stretch out the kinks in his muscles. Ray had finally curled up on the ground and fallen asleep, head pillowed on his arm.

The moon had rose in the sky behind them and the sight of it gives Fraser pause. "Ray?"

Ray sits up instantly, groggy but game. "What? What's wrong, Frase?"

"Look, the moon."

Ray follows the direction of Fraser's hand and— "That can't be the moon." The glowing disc in the sky has none of the distinctive cratering of the moon; it was smooth, featureless and _wrong_. There even seemed to be a faint set of rings encircling it.

"Did you figure out where we are?"

Fraser puts his little notebook back into his pocket. "Not precisely."

"What does that mean?" Ray asks. "Either you know where we are, or you don't."

"Well then," Fraser snaps, temper flaring. "We are either in the distant past, long before humans recorded the positions of the stars, or we are in the distant future, long after the climate has changed sufficiently to turn tundra to a completely different biome."

Ray swallows hard. "But, how— It doesn't make sense— That's impossible—"

He is floundering, and Fraser can't really blame him. This is an impossible situation. "There's no rational explanation. The moon. Those tree-bushes, with what appears to be radically different biological processes. The fact that I can't find one identifiable constellation in the sky, not even ones from the Southern Hemisphere." Fraser feels light headed and shaky; he's sure he's a little shocky.

Gracelessly, he drops to the ground next to Ray and pulls him close. "I don't understand," he mutters against the skin of Ray's neck. "I don't understand." Ray just holds him tight.

They sleep erratically, and neither can keep their eyes closed once the sun rises. 

"I could really use some coffee," Ray says softly, and Fraser understands. They are tired and hungry, and pressed beyond their normal limits.

"Me, too, Ray," he said. He squeezes Ray's shoulder reassuringly. They snack on the pemmican, and drink what little water they have. It's not much, but it helps.

He nods toward a nearby rocky hill. "I'm going to see if being a little higher yields further information."

Ray nods. "Okay."

Ten minutes of brisk walking brings Fraser to the top of the small pinnacle, and for as far as the eye can see, there's nothing but more strange vegetation and emptiness. The landscape is desolate and empty. He sees no signs of life, other than the strange tree-shrubs. 

No animals, no other plants. No movement at all.

"Well?" Ray asks. "Anything?"

"Nothing that I could see," Fraser admits reluctantly. "Nothing _to_ see, I fear."

Ray lifts a shoulder in half a shrug. "Okay, what now? We need a plan."

Indeed, they do. They have no access to food, water, shelter. They have some rope, a rifle, a couple of flashlights. "I suspect that our only option is the structure. If we can gain some knowledge of the inner workings of the place, and how it came to bring us here, maybe we can contrive to find a way home." 

Ray stares off into the distance for a long moment, lips pursed, before meeting Fraser's gaze. "Truthfully, Fraser. No bullshitting. Do you think we can get home?" 

Fraser looks into Ray's eyes "Yes, Ray, I do." He makes sure not to blink. He channels every bit of sincerity and honesty he can into his face, _willing_ Ray to believe. It's important for Ray to remain optimistic.

Ray looks at him, and whatever he sees is enough. "Okay," Ray says, and, slowly, they make their way back to the structure.

-fin-


End file.
